


Beyond Repair

by Denise_Felt



Category: Gerry Anderson's UFO
Genre: F/M, mentions mass death (no details), mentions torture (no details)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denise_Felt/pseuds/Denise_Felt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What becomes of a man whose life is broken beyond repair?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond Repair

## Beyond Repair

  
__**(A UFO Story)**  
by Denise Felt  2010

_Dedicated to my father with love._

__**Chapter 1**

****George didn't know what to make of the new guy. He hadn't seen him arrive, but Ray told him that they'd wheeled him in the other night very late. Still, it was a while before George saw him. He'd heard him once, though. The orderlies had come running the first time he'd screamed. They'd drugged him back to sleep; but George had laid awake the rest of the night, wondering what had happened to the guy to make him scream like that. George was a WWII vet, and he knew about screams. More than he wanted to know, in fact. So, he was curious about this new guy.

For the first few days, no one saw him, and speculation was rife. He was an ex-general or something, Merle had suggested. After all, they'd given him the best room in the place. It was usually empty, reserved for only the most important geezers. No one had been in that room since the old general had been buried. Stackhouse had been a self-important SOB, but George had nonetheless always walked softly around him. Even dying of cancer and put out to pasture, the general could make trouble for anyone foolish enough to oppose him. So George never had. Now there was a new guy in his room. George wondered if maybe Merle was right, and this guy was an ex-general too.

But at first glance, he didn't look much like anybody – and certainly not anyone important. Just one more old-timer on his way out. Today for the first time, they'd brought him to the cafeteria at lunchtime. But he didn't seem to take much notice of his surroundings, so George felt free to look him over. He sat there staring off into space, looking like a little bit of nothing slumped in his wheelchair; gaunt and underfed, his face deeply lined with pain. Which told its own tale. George knew from long experience that if the meds weren't keeping the pain at bay, odds were that it wouldn't be long before the guy was history. Because the Washington Memorial Retirement Nursing Home had_ primo_ meds.

It was only after a long while watching him that George began to rethink his original assessment of the guy. There had been a moment while the staff were clearing plates. The new guy had not eaten anything from his plate at all, but he'd demolished his jello cup in seconds flat. Harry sitting next to him had refused to eat his cup, because he swore it had raspberries in it and he hated raspberries. It didn't have raspberries; it was a lime cup with banana slices in it. But that never stopped Harry when he was on a roll. He pushed the cup away, almost knocking it onto the floor in his anger. But quick as a whip, the new guy's hand reached out and caught it. And just as quickly hid it in his lap.

George had to blink to be sure he'd even seen it happen, it was so fast. He looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed that it happened. Harry sure hadn't. He was already up out of his chair and stomping off to his room, mad at the world for trying to foist raspberries onto him. And suddenly, the new guy looked up – right into George's eyes. The shock held George immobile for a few seconds, which was about as long as the contact lasted. Then the guy looked down, a tiny smile about his lips as he calmly opened the top of the cup to eat Harry's lime jello.

And George realized something. Whoever this guy was, and no matter how bad he looked, George didn't think he was a geezer. Because for that one moment, his eyes hadn't been dull at all from age or ailment. They had been vibrant and alive and quite aware of their surroundings.

And the brightest blue George had ever seen.

***

The next day the cafeteria didn't serve jello cups, and the new guy didn't eat anything at all. Later, when George was wobbling down the hall with his cane (which was embarrassing to use, but kept him out of a wheelchair), he overheard two of the nurses talking about the new guy. From what he could gather as he came by the nurse's station, they were worried that they'd have to put him on an IV. It meant a lot of extra work for them, and it also usually signaled that the guy had simply given up and was ready to die.

But George didn't think he was. Not after that one glance. So he wobbled over to the nurse's station and said to Angie, who was one of the two nurses discussing the guy, "You need to have jello more often. He likes it."

Carol, the other nurse, rolled her eyes and went back to her magazine. Everyone knew that she considered all of the geezers here either senile or stupid or both. George's fondest hope for her was that someday she'd find out what it was like to be senile. He already knew she was stupid.

But Angie was made of a different cloth, and she turned to him and said, "Are you sure, George? Have you talked to him?"

George shook his head. "I don't think he's talked to anybody," he said. "But he ate his jello cup yesterday, and Harry's too."

She gave him a warm smile and patted his arm. "Thank you, George. You've been a big help."

George had no idea what she said to the powers that be at the Home, but from then on, they had jello cups every day. So he guessed that maybe their newest inmate did have some clout. He decided it might be a good idea to keep an eye on the guy.

The newcomer didn't react when they had jello cups the next day, merely taking his and eating it in three quick gulps, then sitting back and zoning out again for the rest of the meal. But when they served them again on the next day after that, which was a Friday, George suddenly found himself the focus of those blue eyes again. The guy's head tilted ever so slightly against the back of his wheelchair as he held George's eyes. And George knew he was asking about the jello.

So he grinned at the new guy and raised his jello cup in a salute before taking a bite. He didn't mind the guy knowing that he had been the one to tell the guy's preference to the nurses. After all, he liked jello too.

The newcomer gave that tiny smile again before digging into his own cup. And George began to think he might someday make headway with this guy.

But the next day, all hell broke loose.

***

So far, the newcomer hadn't been out of his room other than at lunchtime. George was pretty sure he slept through breakfast, because he knew how strong the drugs were that they gave him each night. And they'd doubled the dosage after the second time he'd woke up screaming in the middle of the night. The Retirement Home frowned on its guests being awakened in the middle of the night by people screaming. After all, the whole point of a rest home was, well, _rest_.

And he never came out for supper either, which was a shame as far as George was concerned. Because they sometimes served chocolate pudding cups for dessert after supper, and George would have liked to see if the new guy liked that as well. George really wouldn't have minded having pudding every night.

So lunch was the only time anybody saw the guy. And it was just one of those awful quirks of fate that made Billy Jay's granddaughter choose to visit during the lunch hour that Saturday.

Billy Jay's granddaughter Clara was a sweet girl getting close to the end of her second pregnancy, and Billy had been telling her for weeks to stop coming until after little Joshua or Jenny Sue was born. He didn't want her straining herself on the long drive up here to the Home. But Clara was as stubborn as her old grandpa and kept coming anyway.

She waltzed into the cafeteria just as the staff were clearing the plates after lunch, her little tyke Bubba in tow, and headed for the table where Billy Jay sat. When he saw her, he hollered out her name the way he does every time she visits, and nearly every head in the place turned to see what Billy Jay was yelling about. _Nearly_ every head, because some of the geezers here are stone deaf and wouldn't hear Gabriel's trumpet in their ear at full blast. But among those whose heads turned was the new guy.

And as soon as he caught sight of Clara, he started yelling and screaming and flailing about in his wheelchair as if he was being killed. The staff came running, trying to calm him down, but he fought them off amazingly well for an emaciated thing, knocking down two servers and almost coming completely out of his chair; and it took three security guys running in and holding him down to keep him in his chair. Finally some semi-intelligent nurse suggested taking him back to his room, and they wheeled him out.

No one saw him again till Monday.

***

Merle had an idea about it. But then Merle usually had an idea about everything. As they sat playing chess Saturday night in the lounge, Merle told George his theory about the new guy. And George listened, because Merle was his best friend. They'd been inmates here at the Home for over five years now, arriving the same rainy day in June of '85. They'd needed to put up a new table in the cafeteria to accommodate such an huge influx of guests as the two made, so they'd sat across from each other as they ate their first mushy meal at the Home. They'd been table mates ever since. These days Merle usually sat at George's left, whispering his latest theory about life in general into George's good ear as they ate their mushy food.

Tonight, as George tried to concentrate on staying one step ahead of Merle, who was a champion chess player, he listened with only about half an ear to his theory.

"I think he maybe had a daughter or something that got blown up in one of those car bombs," Merle suggested. "It would explain a lot, don't you think?"

"I don't know," George answered, trying to keep track of the next two moves he wanted to make on the board. "Why would anybody blow up a lady in a car bomb? Those are usually used for important people."

"Yeah, that's why I think it happened that way," Merle said, leaning forward as he expounded. "Because maybe he was a general or something and the important person the bomb was meant for, and his daughter borrowed his car and died in his place."

George looked up from the board at his friend. "Huh," was all he said. But Merle's eyes gleamed. He knew that meant that George was considering his theory.

But George refused to be distracted by his friend's theory and possibly lose the game, so he said nothing more until they were putting the pieces away at the end of the game. Then he said, "I still don't know why it had to be a car bomb."

Merle closed the lid on the box of pieces and set them aside. "Well, I don't know as it was a car bomb, George," he said. "Except that there are sure a lot of them going off these days, so it could have been."

"Alright," George conceded. "But he don't look like a general to me."

"Well, no." Even Merle couldn't deny that their newest inmate here at the Home wasn't quite what they considered General material. For starters, he neither had Stackhouse's large stature nor his booming voice. Although since no one had heard him speak yet, they couldn't be positive about that. Screams didn't count, they both knew. People didn't talk the same way that they screamed.

And he also didn't carry himself that certain way that great military men did. And it should have been evident, even from a wheelchair, that he was used to command. And it simply wasn't there. He was far too withdrawn from his surroundings, too unconcerned with making others do his bidding, to be an officer of that calibre. Which made George wonder more than ever how he'd ended up here -- at this military rest home, and in the room reserved for their most important people.

  
**Chapter 2**

****When George saw the new guy on Monday, he had shrunken somewhat in his wheelchair and didn't look well. He also kept his eyes on his lap the entire time he was in the cafeteria, and George wondered if maybe he was embarrassed by his outburst on Saturday.

But Tuesday was a much better day, and he sat up more in his chair and looked around the room at discreet intervals, as if taking in his surroundings for the first time. His eyes even flickered to people's faces once or twice as they talked, as if he was paying attention for the first time to what was being said around him. George thought it was a good sign.

The newcomer even caught George watching him. But he didn't seem upset by it, merely giving that slight quirk of his lips before focusing elsewhere in the room.

On Wednesday, they had peach jello. George loved peach jello. Of all the flavors he'd been exposed to these past five years here at the Home, it was by far his favorite. Mainly because it actually tasted like something other than colored sugar gelatin. It tasted like peaches. Oh, not exactly like a real peach would have tasted. But close. And when a guy only had mush to eat for years and years, something that even came remotely close to tasting good was a pleasant diversion.

So George could hardly contain himself as he ate his mush camouflaged as chicken and dumplings while keeping a surreptitious eye on the new guy. He could eat the mush today without even a silent complaint, because he had peach jello for dessert.

Then he saw the new guy take his first bite of his jello. He froze for a moment, his surprise plain on his face for anyone to see if they'd been looking. Then he slowly withdrew his spoon, looked at the cup, then took a second bite. And then he smiled.

It wasn't the tiny smile George had seen in the past. This was an honest to goodness real smile. It made him look much younger suddenly, and George could almost catch a glimpse of the man he had once been in that smiling face. The new guy obviously liked peach jello too.

And George had a sudden idea. It was a rather scary idea, involving some risk and a lot of sacrifice. But it might work. And the thought that it might had his heart pounding faster in his chest in a way that wasn't very comfortable to a man his age. He was afraid to look up, lest anyone see his intentions in his eyes. So he stared at his jello cup as he finished his meal.

When he was done, he pushed the plate aside for the staff to pick up and reached for his jello cup. He'd wrestled with himself while he ate. Should he? Shouldn't he? It was peach jello, after all, and it wasn't as if they got that every day. But he'd made his decision. He glanced up surreptitiously to find that a lot of the geezers had already left the cafeteria, and there were several gaps at the tables. He could see the new guy quite clearly between the gaps, and he realized with a small shock that the new guy could also see him just as clearly. And he was watching George for a change.

His gaze looked almost puzzled, as if he was wondering what George was doing, gazing at his jello cup instead of eating it.

George met that gaze and smiled, setting his jello cup down and pushing it forward on the table in front of him in an unmistakable gesture.

The new guy's eyebrow raised slightly at this in a move that George was quite envious of. He'd never been able to perfect the single eyebrow lift, even after a lifetime of trying.

So George merely smiled wider, sitting back in his chair with his hands on the table, not touching the jello cup. Waiting.

After a few tense minutes wondering what the new guy would do, George let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding as the new guy maneuvered his wheelchair away from his table and brought it around to come to George's table. Up until that minute, George hadn't even been certain that the guy knew how to work his chair, since he had never voluntarily gone anywhere in it until then. Always he'd been pushed by a staff member into the cafeteria, then later pushed back out again. And George realized with a shock that it wasn't that the guy couldn't get around himself. It was that the staff was catering to him. He was so low key that George had missed their deference, thinking that it was necessary rather than a sign of his distinction. And he marveled suddenly at his own temerity in attempting this.

The new guy brought his wheelchair smoothly up to the table near George's right, where Maxwell always sat. But Max had already left to go to the lounge to catch his afternoon soaps. The newcomer's blue eyes were even brighter up close. And more piercing too. George swallowed, suddenly unsure of himself. But he had come this far.

Suddenly Evie got up with a huff from her seat at the table and left the room. But Evie had been a military secretary for 47 years and hated whenever things didn't stay in their assigned places. The new guy was surprised by her sudden departure and watched, frowning slightly, as she left. Eventually he turned back to George and the peach jello cup waiting for him.

George had wondered if the new guy would simply reach over and grab the jello cup from where it sat on the table. He'd seen how quick the guy's reflexes could be, so he knew the guy had little to fear of George stopping him. But he didn't do anything, merely gazing at George as if waiting for him to make the next move.

After a moment, George reached down and took hold of the jello cup, looking first at it, then at the new guy. He raised both his brows, since he couldn't do it the newcomer's way.

Suddenly the new guy smiled in understanding, saying in a soft voice that sounded rusty from disuse, "May I?"

"Sure," George said, and handed him the cup.

The new guy had obviously thought ahead, because he had his spoon with him. He held it loosely in his hand as he expertly tore the lid off the cup. As he put the spoon into the cup for that first bite, he stopped suddenly and looked over at George, who was watching him expectantly. He smiled once more and said, "Thank you."

George nodded. He wasn't about to say 'anytime' to the guy. After all, this was peach jello. But he sat back and watched as the guy ate it with obvious enjoyment. And he couldn't be sorry for his sacrifice this one time.

Merle – being Merle – had missed the significance of everything that had just taken place. But on hearing a new voice at the table, he had looked over and noticed the new guy. And being Merle, he immediately launched into introductions, telling the guy all about himself and George, where they'd served, and the battles they'd fought in, interspersing his conversation with requests for information from the guy in return.

The guy never said a word, merely nodding occasionally as Merle talked. But George was certain his attention wasn't wholly on the jello he was savoring, because once in a while his eyes would flicker at a name or a place that Merle mentioned. And George knew that those names and places must have been familiar to the guy.

When the last bite was gone, and the guy set down his spoon, there was suddenly a staff member at his elbow to wheel him away. He stopped them with a slightly raised hand, a move that even Merle couldn't miss, and said in that soft, rusty voice, "Thank you, Merle, George, for allowing me to join you."

Then he laid his hands in his lap and allowed them to wheel him out of the room.

***

Merle's eyes were practically bugging out of his head after the guy left, but George gave him a small headshake before he could open his mouth and spew out questions. It wasn't until much later, after supper, when everyone was either in the lounge playing games or in the TV room for the nightly sitcoms, that George challenged Merle to a game of backgammon.

He chose that game, because he could talk and still concentrate on what he was doing as he played. They set up the board at their favorite corner table with its excellent view of the lighted fountain out in front of the building. Others in the room were either reading or playing games, and the two men kept their conversation on easy topics through the first two games.

Then, midway through the third game, Merle suddenly said quietly, "My God, George! He _is_ a general."

George nodded absently, his eyes scanning the room casually in order to see if anyone was paying attention to them. Then his eyes met his friend's, and he said, "He's definitely someone of importance. He still doesn't seem like a general, though. I'd say more like a deposed king or something like that."

But Merle shook his head. "He wouldn't be here if he was a king, George. Consider a minute. This isn't Britain or one of those other European places that have kings and dukes and whatnots. He's military, sure enough. Even though he doesn't quite carry himself that way somehow. But he's got to be a general at the very least for the staff to kowtow to him like that."

George rolled the dice and moved his pieces toward home. "I know what you're saying, Merle, and it makes a lot of sense. But I also know what I feel. And he don't feel like a general to me."

Merle rolled his eyes, then rolled the dice. "You and your feelings! What is he, if he's not a general then?"

"I don't know."

Merle threw up his hands. "Well, there you have it then!"

George didn't think they had it at all, but he didn't say so. There was something about the guy. He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it would become clearer the longer they knew him. He couldn't be sure. But there was something about him that had seemed almost regal when he left them today at lunch. Not at all like a mere military man. And much more like a king.

  
**Chapter 3**

****After that, the new guy sat with them every day for lunch. And even Evie eventually got used to him being there and stopped glaring at him for his breach of conduct in changing tables. He didn't say much, but seemed to listen to the conversation around him as though he was a mere observer. Every great once in a while, he'd make a comment in that soft voice he had. And George wasn't really surprised to find that everyone at the table would instantly stop talking and listen to what he had to say. He had that way about him. Not of command so much. They all had experienced enough of command with Gen. Stackhouse. It was more an unquestionable authority that came through every time he spoke. As if he'd never had to yell to get something done, because people just did it. As if he'd been born to be in charge.

Like a king.

But George didn't say any of that to Merle, because Merle was just as sure that the guy was a general. So there was no getting anywhere with him.

About a week after he'd joined their table, George felt bold enough to ask him his name. He stiffened momentarily, his blue eyes widening slightly with some strong emotion that George couldn't define. Then he relaxed and said softly, "My name is Ed."

He was looking better these days. He was still only eating jello, but nearly every day someone at the table offered to trade him their jello for something off his untouched plate. So he wasn't doing so bad. He began to put on a little weight – a pound or two here and there. It wasn't really noticeable on a day to day basis, but after he'd been there a few weeks, George realized that his face didn't look so gaunt.

George also noticed something else, something that had not been so obvious before because of how emaciated he'd been when he first arrived. He didn't say anything about it to anyone else, but one day when Ed was enjoying his jello and the rest of the table was deep into an argument concerning current political ridiculousness, George leaned over and said in an undervoice, "You aren't a geezer, are you, Ed?"

The new guy met his eyes, startled for a moment. He stared into George's eyes as if looking for some hint of why George wanted to know, and it took all George's fortitude to hold that piercing stare. Then he dropped them back to his cup, and George could breathe again. George saw him glance quickly under his lashes around the table to be certain no one was listening to them, then he met George's eyes again and whispered, "No."

Nothing else was said, but George had a lot to think about.

It was the hair that had fooled him about the guy from the beginning. It was that _white_ white that some guys turned as they got older that always made them look like movie stars or models for senior living magazines. It was cut quite short and the new guy obviously didn't concern himself with grooming it, because it fluffed around his skull like a dandelion gone to seed. But George would bet that it had once been blonde. Really blonde, so that when it turned it would hardly be noticeable that the color had changed any. George's own grandpa had been like that, and George remembered thinking when he was little that it must be grand to get old and not go gray.

But George had not been as lucky as his grandpa. His own hairline had receded and receded until it met the crown of his head, and he was left with some gray side hair and a few wisps on top.

George wondered how old the new guy actually was. It was a hard puzzle to solve, because his outward appearance was so deceptive. That hair, for instance. And his emaciated form.

Yeah. Definitely another puzzle in itself. George knew all about the Japanese prison camps of WW II. He'd been one of the inmates there for a while, and his rescue and the rescue of the entire camp was still a day he celebrated annually. He'd seen men look that emaciated before. And worse even than their new friend here at the Home.

But the war had been over nearly fifty years now. How had Ed gotten so bad? What army was worse than the Japanese when it came to the inhumanity that they inflicted on their fellow men? Oh, he'd heard a few horror stories from subsequent wars. How badly the Vietnam POWs had been treated, and such. But he doubted if anyone who hadn't been there could ever comprehend the stark cruelty of the Japanese to their prisoners of war. Nothing, to George's mind, could compete with that. So, the question remained. What had happened to their new friend to reduce him to the equivalent of a WW II Japanese prisoner of war?

George thought that was a very good question. Even though he'd never ask it. The air of secrecy around their new friend was obvious enough for an ex-captain of the Air Force to grasp. Nobody was going to be asking this guy anything.

But the new guy was finally getting a little flesh on his bones. It was tough that he ate only jello, because he couldn't be getting a lot of nutrients that way. But George well remembered how long it had been after his own incarceration before he could stomach solid food. Before even a bite of an apple didn't send him retching violently for minutes on end. So he understood why the guy was taking it slow. Better all around that way.

Although no one with any sense would consider the stuff they ate here at the Home _solid_ food.

***

On the weekends, they kept the new guy in his room. George thought that it was a good idea, since nearly all of the visits anyone got here at the Home were on the weekends. And they didn't need the guy going ballistic every time he saw a girl. Especially since the vast majority of the visitors were girls.

George and Merle often sat at their corner table in the lounge and discussed them as they came and went from the front entrance. After so long here as inmates, they knew who they were. There was Diana, Ray's pretty red-haired daughter, her hands full of the crossword books her dad so loved as she came up the front walk. Of Ray's five sons, no one ever caught even a glimpse. But Diana came once a month like clockwork. And her red hair always looked so delightful in the sunlight. George had once asked Ray where she'd gotten her red hair – if it was from her mother? And Ray had laughed his big belly laugh and said, no. She'd gotten it from _him_. And George had laughed too. Well, it _was_ funny when you thought about it, since Ray's head was as bald as could be.

There was Rosemary, Harry's long-suffering wife, who came every Sunday to sit by his chair and listen to him complain about anything and everything here at the Home. George often marveled at her. She was still very pretty, her long gray hair gathered softly at her neck into a bun, but wisps of it escaping often to flit around her face. And in spite of her husband and his cantankerous ways, she always had a smile for everyone at the Home. George had often thought that Harry was a fool for not sitting still and drowning in those lovely brown eyes rather than bitching and moaning about what couldn't be changed.

Then there was Clara. Here she came, with her arms full of newborn baby, and little Bubba running behind her to keep up. They all left their chairs when she came into the lounge, converging on Billy Jay in order to see the new little one. George thought his tiny face resembled nothing so much as a peach that had sat too long in the sun, but he wasn't about to say so. But danged if the little tyke didn't have Billy Jay's nose!

Billy Jay himself just sat in his chair like a king, holding court with the little one in his arms, beaming like he'd just been handed the world. Which, George supposed, he had.

They were making quite a bit of noise fawning over the baby, and George looked up at one point to see if the staff would be coming to tell them to quiet down. And he saw something curious.

The new guy had come out of his room.

The noise must have drawn him, and he was sitting in his wheelchair out in the hallway, partially hidden from view by the wall that ended nearby. He wasn't doing anything, just sitting. But he looked almost tormented, so tense and strained that George was hard put to understand why. His hands gripping the arms of his wheelchair were white with strong emotion. George didn't get it. Why did Clara make the guy so squirrelly? Then he followed the guy's eyes, and he realized that it wasn't Clara that was affecting the guy so much. It was the tiny baby in Billy Jay's arms. _Oh God_, was all George could think.

Suddenly the guy looked up – and caught George watching him. George couldn't stop the compassion he felt for the guy from showing in his eyes, and Ed flinched from it as though from a blow. Swiftly, silently, he whirled his wheelchair around and headed back to his room.

***

When he and Merle finally got back to their game after the baby had left, George was a little absent-minded. Twice Merle had to tell him that he'd reneged on his play, and finally he just put down his hand and said, "George, what's wrong?"

George looked at his friend in surprise, then down at the cards in his hand. Were they playing cards? Somehow he hadn't noticed. "I was thinking," he said after a moment.

"Not about the game obviously," Merle retorted.

"Sorry," George said, then abruptly stood up from the table. "I'm going to take a walk," he told his astonished friend.

Merle watched him in bewilderment as he left the lounge.

***

George walked all over the grounds. The place was well-preserved, kept in beautiful condition by a platoon of gardeners that worked year round to keep it looking great. It was well worth the government's time and expense, George had realized early on, to focus on the grounds rather than the food. After all, these grounds were the main selling point to the entire facility. And George figured they thought they could cut costs with the food, because geezers couldn't taste half of what they ate anyway. Which showed how much they knew.

But he didn't pause to admire the layout of the gardens today. He couldn't seem to focus on the scenery at all as he passed. His thoughts were on something else. Something not so beautiful.

_What had been done to that poor man?_

__Over and over the question kept repeating in his head. The images he was bombarded with in answer were horrific, certainly nightmarish, probably far from the truth. And after over an hour trying to come to grips with it, he had to admit he was still stumped. He didn't know. He just didn't know what a man could endure to make him look at a baby with torment in his eyes. Babies were a symbol of eternity. That life went on. That people didn't ever truly die, because they lived on in their posterity.

Like Billy Jay's new great-grandson.

George had no posterity of his own. He'd been a career man, never leaving the military until he'd been forced out by the accident that had left him in rehabilitation for months and using a cane ever since. Somehow, between wars and skirmishes all over the globe, he'd never found time for a wife and family. He hadn't really missed it. He'd been busy, after all. Although he sometimes thought now that it would be nice to have someone come to see him here at the Home on the weekends like the others did.

So it was always a treat to him to be around the other families when they came to visit loved ones at the Home. Like he was getting to vicariously enjoy a little of their special joys. And babies were the greatest joy of all.

What could possibly happen to someone to make them a torment instead?

**  
Chapter 4**

****George was a little worried on Monday when they had lunch. He thought maybe the new guy might not ever forgive him for witnessing his inner torment like that, and George didn't want it to be like that between them. He liked this guy. Danged if he knew why really. But he did. So he kept his eyes on his plate and didn't let them wander around the room as they normally did. And he certainly didn't once look at the new guy.

But then the new guy spoke to him, saying in that soft voice of his, "What do you think, George?"

"What?" George had been so focused on keeping himself to himself that he hadn't been paying attention to the conversation going on around him at the table. He looked up in surprise – and met the eyes of the new guy.

He didn't look mad at George at all. His blue eyes were instead full of understanding and an awareness of George's dilemma. And kindness. Most of all, his eyes were kind, and seemed to be asking George for _his_ forgiveness – although George couldn't imagine why. As if Ed had done anything he needed to be forgiven for. How absurd was that?

The new guy patiently repeated his question. "I was asking what you thought about the state of things in the Middle East, George."

"Oh. Well, I'm not sure." George looked around the table. Everyone was chuckling at his absent-mindedness, except for Evie.

She said caustically, "George, you're an idiot!" and turned to make a comment to Max as if she was done with trying to talk to him. But Evie thought all men were idiots, so George didn't take offense to her comment.

He looked back at Ed, and they shared a rueful smile at the difficulty of dealing with certain elderly ladies.

But later, George was surprised to find Ed talking to Evie in the lounge. It didn't surprise him so much that Ed had remained out of his room after lunch, although that was new. But he was getting better, after all, and needed to spend more time out of bed. No. What surprised George was that he had approached Evie to start with, seeing what a difficult woman she was.

Yet there he was, listening attentively to her going on and on about something or other. Initially she had been curt in her responses to him; but as time went on, she began to talk more openly. She even at one point gave him a small smile in answer to his question. George had never seen her look so relaxed when talking to any man here at the Home, so he settled himself into a reading chair in the corner and watched them over his book. Every once in a while, Ed would make a comment to her in his quiet way as she talked, and she would nod and answer him eagerly, her dark eyes lighting up in a manner that George had never been privileged to see before. And once she had even asked him a question, then threw back her head and laughed at his quiet response.

George was astonished.

A while later, when Evie had finally gone off to her room for her afternoon nap, the new guy wheeled his chair over to where George sat reading in the corner.

"Good book?" he asked George.

"Sure," George replied, not having a clue what the book was about. He might have been looking at the pages, but in his mind he had been seeing Evie's head thrown back, her eyes dancing with merriment as she laughed.

He met the new guy's eyes and realized something. That quiet manner hid a very quick mind. Ed knew George's secret. And the look he got from him was one of commiseration, as if he knew George's case was hopeless. George sighed. Yeah. What else was new?

"So . . . what'd you talk about?" he asked finally.

The new guy smiled. "We seem to have met a lot of the same people over the course of time. Although her perspective on them is somewhat different from mine."

George nearly blinked in surprise, but stopped himself in time. Evie had worked at the Pentagon for her entire career, and everybody knew that anybody important she hadn't met didn't deserve mentioning. And the new guy had known some of those important people. Huh.

***

On Thursday, the new guy tried the food on his plate.

George tried not to goggle at him in surprise when he saw him dip his spoon into his mashed potatoes and gravy. He held his breath while Ed took a bite, wondering if he was ready for solids yet. Then he grinned involuntarily as Ed's eyes widened at the taste.

The new guy removed his spoon from his mouth and heroically swallowed. Then he met George's eyes and said blandly, "I think I prefer the jello."

George laughed so hard that everyone stopped talking and asked him what the deal was? But he was laughing too hard to answer, so they eventually shrugged and went back to their discussion.

But Ed just sat there quietly and ate his mushy food.

***

On Friday, the new guy came into the lounge late in the afternoon while Merle and George were playing chess. He brought his wheelchair close to the table where they sat, careful not to bump it. Then he just sat, not saying anything. But just watching their game.

It was a little unnerving to George to have someone watching him as he played, especially since he wasn't a whiz at chess. So when it was over and Merle had soundly defeated him, George turned to Ed and said a little sarcastically, "You want to try?"

But the new guy only smiled sweetly and said, "Thank you. I think I'd enjoy that."

So George had slid his chair out and let Ed maneuver into his spot. Then he sat nearby and watched the new guy try to beat Merle.

It didn't take long for George to realize that the new guy knew the game even better than Merle, which he would have thought was impossible. Poor Merle was looking a little harassed by the time the new guy said quietly, "Checkmate."

And George felt suddenly vindicated for all those times when Merle had beaten him over the years. As if this one game had somehow erased the sting of all those failures. He grinned at the new guy, who gave him a small smile in return as he thanked Merle for the game.

Merle didn't like the look of George's grin, so he said, "Better that you played me rather than George. He's not that great at strategy."

The new guy said quietly, "Well, I think we all know that George's talents lay in other areas."

After he'd wheeled his chair out of the lounge, Merle turned to George and asked, "What talents was he talking about, George?"

"Danged if I know," George admitted, just as stumped as Merle.

***

On Saturday, something weird happened.

Merle's kids had come to visit and had taken their dad out for lunch to celebrate his 72nd birthday. So George sat in the lounge alone and read the new Tom Clancy spy thriller. Jimmy, one of the night orderlies, always brought him the newest one once he'd finished reading it. It was nice of him to be willing to share his books with an old man, but he had an ulterior motive too. His family frowned on his interest in espionage, so he didn't have anyone to talk to about the novels and his ideas concerning them.

Except George. And George didn't mind being his sounding board. He was a nice kid, after all. And some of his ideas had merit.

So George was reading the novel in the lounge and chanced to look up as a shadow passed over him where he sat by the window. He looked out and saw a guy striding into the building. He was fifty-ish and quite fit, his thick brown hair liberally sprinkled with gray. George couldn't see his eyes, because he was wearing aviator sunglasses. But although he was dressed sharply in a designer suit, he moved with the grace of a wrestler, and it made George wonder what brought him here to the Home. He doubted very much if he was related to anybody here.

So George got up out of his chair and walked out of the lounge as casually as a man could with a cane, wandering over to one of the chairs against the wall near the main reception desk in the lobby. He sat back down with his book and listened.

The guy gave the receptionist a smile as she turned to help him, but it was a rather absent smile. Because the guy looked worried, even with his shades on, and not like he had the time to exchange pleasantries. All of George's antennae started quivering. Something was up, that was certain.

The guy said, "I'm here to visit a patient of yours."

"Guest," the receptionist corrected him. "We call them guests here, sir."

"Right. A guest." The guy looked around and grimaced slightly at his surroundings. Then he said, "The thing is, I'm not certain what name you have him listed under."

She looked at him somewhat suspiciously. "Then I don't think I can help you."

He took his shades off at that point and turned his eyes on her, obviously deciding that the time for exchanging pleasantries had come. He leaned forward, gave her a great smile, and said, "Listen. I'm not supposed to even be here. They've forbidden me from seeing him. So I have no idea what name they've given him while he's here."

"If you've been forbidden . . ." she said, faltering under his charm, but not completely won over.

He shrugged. "It's stupid. They don't want him to have any reminders of the past while he recovers. But they're wrong. I'm his best friend, and I know him better than they do. He needs his friends right now more than ever."

She sighed, convinced by his loyalty even more than by his charm. "What does he look like?"

He gave her a truly beautiful smile and leaned closer. "He's about six feet, with white hair and blue eyes."

She said, "We have four men staying here that fit that description. What else can you tell me about him?"

But George already knew who the guy was looking for. It couldn't be anyone else.

"Well," the guy said, running a hand through his hair as he thought about it. "I don't know. I haven't seen him in ages, and he looked awful the last time I did see him. I'm not sure how to describe him. He's soft-spoken and . . ."

"Mr. Freeman," she said instantly.

"What?" he said, startled.

"I think you mean Mr. Freeman," she told him. "Ed Freeman."

The guy drew himself up at that, looking rather grim. "Damn Jackson!" he muttered angrily under his breath. Then he seemed to notice that he'd startled the girl, and he made himself relax against the desk again. He gave her a sheepish grin.

"Yeah. That would be him."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Freeman isn't allowed any visitors."

He seemed completely nonplused by her statement. After a moment, he said, "But I've come a long way just to see him. Maybe – just this one time – ?"

"I'm really sorry," she said. "With someone else, perhaps I could bend the rules for you. But he's a VIP, so I can't. I'm sorry."

He looked away from the receptionist for a moment, and George could just see the sheen of tears in his eyes before he got them under control. "Okay," he said finally, turning back to her, his hand balling into a fist on the top of the desk. "Maybe if you could just tell him that I came?"

She laid one of her hands over his fist and said softly, "I'll see what I can do."

He nodded his thanks, apparently beyond the ability to say the words, and abruptly left the building. George watched him stride off, then bent his head to the novel. But Clancy seemed almost drab after what he'd just witnessed.

**  
Chapter 5**

Late Sunday night, George awoke suddenly to find Ray at his elbow.

"What?" he asked sleepily.

Ray sighed, obviously relieved that he was finally awake. "Something's up, George," he whispered. "You need to come."

George sat up and ran a hand over his face. "Okay, Ray," he said. "I'm coming." He slid his feet into his slippers and grabbed his robe off the door on his way out of the room, fighting to belt it while hobbling with his cane down the hall behind Ray.

Ray was one of those backward people. Not in the sense that George's generation used the word, but in another sense altogether. Ray was backward with his timeclock. He couldn't sleep at all at night. Of course, George wasn't certain that he ever slept during the day either, because every time he'd thought Ray had nodded off, Ray had been wide awake and alert the next time he looked.

Nighttime at the Home could be scary, because the hallways were dimmed and still, and the common rooms empty. And a guy could get unnerved in all that quiet. So George had dealt with crises with Ray late at night before.

"What's the problem, Ray?" he asked him quietly. "Are the pipes making weird noises again?"

"No," Ray said, leading him into the lounge. "I don't know what it is. But he said to go get you. So I did." And he motioned to the only other occupant in the room before going over to a corner to sit.

George looked over in surprise. And met the new guy's eyes.

He was sitting near the window, his hand on the edge of the curtain that the staff had closed earlier. And his expression was decidedly grim. "George," he said, his soft voice taking on an edge that George had never heard from him before. "We have trouble."

George came over to him and sat on the arm of a nearby chair. He knew the voice of authority when he heard it, and he was hearing it now. "Okay. What's going on?"

Ed looked down for a minute, as though unsure how to proceed. Then he met George's eyes again, this time with steel in his. "I can trust you. You see more around here than any other person. And yet you keep it to yourself. That's admirable, George."

"Thank you, sir," George said, having no doubt that he was in the presence of that VIP now.

Ed nodded once, then continued. "Somehow my enemy has found out where I'm being hidden, and they've come for me." His hand twitched on the curtain, but he did not pull it back. He said, "I need you to alert the staff, George. I need you to get them to listen to you. To defend this place." He drew a breath before continuing. "I'm going to go out the front door and let them have me. It may be enough for them. But I can't be certain of that, George, and I won't have anyone dying here because of me. Do you understand?" His eyes were stark in his face, and all George could do was nod numbly in return.

"Your job is to make sure that the staff defends this place if they decide to come in anyway. Will you do that for me, George?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good man," Ed said to him. "Any questions?"

"Just one," George said tentatively. "Who are they, sir?"

Instead of answering him with words, Ed drew back the edge of the curtain enough for George to see outside. And what he saw was so bizarre, so unreal, that it took him a few moments to assimilate it correctly. Off beyond the gardens, a weird glow was emanating from the woods. And backlit by that glow, George could see two spacesuited guys stealthily approaching the building. George didn't recognize that style of spacesuit, nor could he identify the make of the weapons they carried, other than to say that they were rifles of some sort. But he was dead certain he didn't like the look of the object that glowed in the woods behind them. He swallowed and sat back on the arm of the chair, mopping his suddenly sweaty brow.

"Do you understand, George?" Ed asked him.

George met his eyes bravely. "Yes, sir." His skin was crawling, but he understood. "But you can't just go out there and let them have you."

Ed put a hand on his arm. "It's alright, George," he said. "It's for the best." He wheeled himself toward the doorway before turning back to meet George's eyes one more time. "Now, George. Do it now!" And he headed toward the front doors.

George ran down the hallway as fast as his cane would take him, screaming and flicking on lights as he went. He was hardly aware of what he was doing, because in his mind he was seeing his new friend in the hands of those . . . _creatures_. And he couldn't bear it.

Several nurses and orderlies came running, and George singled out Jimmy, grabbing him by the shoulder and telling him the situation in sharp, military terms. And Jimmy (bless the boy for his love of spy thrillers!) understood immediately and started ordering the nurses to call for backup as he gathered a few of the security guys and ran toward the front of the building.

George leaned against the wall weakly, closing his eyes to fight his tears of relief. _Thank God_, was all he could think. _Thank God they had listened_.

***

He didn't see Ed again that night. They never even brought him back into the building. A bulletproof vehicle had whisked him away into the night, and once George made certain from Jimmy that Ed had been unharmed and okay, he let it go.

It took a while for things at the Home to go back to normal. Everyone had their own theory about what had happened that night – from terrorists to conspiracy plots. Even the staff had differing ideas of what had actually taken place, and it wasn't long before George realized that they simply didn't remember. It made his blood run cold when even Jimmy looked at him blankly when he asked him about it. He told George it was probably all a hum. Jimmy was more interested in what George had thought about the Clancy novel. Weren't those plot twists the coolest?

George had a feeling that he was the only person left at the Home who knew what had occurred that night. And it made him nervous at first, wondering when they would 'fix' his memories and make him forget too. Until he remembered something that Ed had told him that night. About how he saw things that others didn't, but knew how to keep quiet about it. And he stopped looking over his shoulder constantly.

But somehow the one detail that didn't get erased from anyone's memory was that George had raised the alarm. George had saved them all. Whatever cork-brained version of the story they were spouting, that one thing remained the same. And George did not at all enjoy being the center of everyone's attention. Besides, he hadn't been the hero that night. Ed had. George knew he'd never forget the courage he'd witnessed as Ed had gone out -- alone and unarmed – to face those who'd done what they'd done to him.

So it made George feel stupid to have everybody calling him a hero. And he couldn't figure out why Ed had done it. Why he'd left that little detail in while wiping out all others?

Until the day Evie had sat down next to him in the lounge and asked him to tell her the whole story. He'd been so surprised that he goggled at her. And then he realized that she was looking at him in a way she never had before. It was then that he knew why Ed had done it.

And he had taken a deep breath and told her his version of the story -- sufficiently altered, of course.

　  
**Epilogue**

****George and Merle were playing chess at their favorite corner table, while Evie sat nearby with her knitting and watched them. Every once in a while, she'd make a recommendation, and George would flash a grin at her and move his piece where she'd suggested. And Merle would sigh, as if he longed for the good old days when it had been easy to beat George.

The weather outside was windy, blowing the fall leaves around, and it looked as if it might get quite chilly by evening. Evie intended to finish the sweater she was making for George before his birthday. The man would dearly need it for the cold winter evenings here at the Home.

Suddenly, Angie came into the lounge and walked over to their table, touching George's arm. He looked up at her in surprise. "What is it, Angie?" he asked.

The nurse said, "I'm sorry to interrupt your game, George. But there's someone here who wishes to speak to you."

He frowned at her. "Who is it?" he asked, wondering if he might be in trouble for something.

"He didn't say, George. Will you come?"

"Of course." George got up and tipped over his king, saying to Merle, "You win this time, Merle. Don't get used to it." And he threw a grin Evie's way before following Angie out of the room.

She led him to his room first, so that he could put on his jacket. Then he followed her, leaning on his cane, outside into the gardens and down near the pond at the far end. He could see someone sitting there on one of the benches, but it wasn't until they got closer that he could make out any details.

The man was slender, dressed in a designer suit that had obviously been tailored to his exact measurements. George had a moment to wonder what any celebrity would want with him when he noticed the man's hair. It shone white, even on this cloudy day, and fluttered lightly against his head in a style that covered his forehead and flattered his narrow face. George's heart began to beat harder in his chest, and he searched the man's face, trying to tell for sure. But the man wore sunglasses, making identification difficult.

"Here he is, sir," the nurse said to the man as they reached him.

"Thank you, Angie," the man told her in his quiet way. And she nodded once before heading back into the building. The man turned to George and said, "Well, George? Will you join me for a moment?"

"Sure," George said, and made to sit on the bench beside him. But the man scooted over, allowing George to sit at his right. "It wouldn't do much good for us to talk, would it?" he said. "If I sit where it's harder for you to hear me?"

George looked at him. And the man smiled that sweet smile of his. "Sir!" George said, reaching out to take the hand that was being offered to him. "It's so good to see you, sir!"

Straker chuckled. "Now, George. I can't have you 'sirring' me to death. You know my name."

"Do I?" George asked, biting off the 'sir' before he automatically added it.

His friend sighed. "Yes. My name is Ed." He took off his sunglasses and put them away in his jacket pocket. "Don't tell me you've forgotten me!"

George met those blue twinkling eyes and couldn't help but chuckle. "No, sir – I mean, Ed. I don't think I'll ever forget you."

"Well, then." After a moment, he said, "So how are things here, George? Everyone all right?"

George nodded. "Max went on home to Jesus last month. We had a fine wake for him in the TV room. We watched recordings of all his favorite soaps for five hours straight."

Ed grinned. "I'm sorry I missed that. And the others?"

George knew what he was asking, and he turned a bit red as he said, "Evie and I are planning a spring wedding. She won't hear of getting married in the winter."

Straker's grin widened. "I was hoping you wouldn't be too long in taking her in hand, George. She deserves a good man like you."

George grinned and blushed, nearly overwhelmed by the compliment. But he said, in the interests of being strictly honest, "It's more that she has _me_ in hand, actually."

And Ed laughed. It was a rich sound, and one of the most lovely things George thought he had ever heard. He turned to his friend and said, "And how are you then?" Although it was obvious that he was doing well.

"I'm doing . . . much better than I ever thought I would, George," he said quietly. "When I came here – well, I didn't know why they bothered. At that point, I was considered far beyond repair. And I would have much preferred to slip away for good. Does that sound cowardly to you, George?"

"Not at all," he said instantly. "I've been there myself."

"Ah!" Straker nodded, as if this confirmed some inner conclusion he had reached. "Then you know."

They sat in silence for a while, then Straker said, in an effort to throw off dark thoughts, "Well, as you know, there was this one person who wouldn't let me slip away. He seemed determined, in fact, to make me accept my new reality and deal with it." And his eyes twinkled as he said it.

"Me?" George asked in surprise, amazed to hear that he'd had that much of an impact.

"You, George. I owe it all to you."

George took a deep breath. "I don't know what I did," he said in bewilderment.

Straker chuckled. "Mostly you were just a friend to me. You smiled and just assumed that I would naturally get better. That things would improve for me. And they did."

George smiled. "I sure am glad of that."

After a moment, Straker said, "You don't ask, George, what happened to me to put me in your rest home."

"No. And I won't," George said. "Like I said, I've been there myself, although probably not as bad as you were. The one thing I can now say positively in reference to my captors was that they were at least human. Marginally."

After a long moment, Straker said, "Thank you, George, for not needing to know."

"Actually, there is one thing," George felt compelled to say.

"Please. Ask."

George sighed. And tried to explain. "It's not as though I want to know really. It's something that I _need_ to know. Because I lay awake some nights wondering about it, and I know my thoughts about it are much worse than the reality could ever be. And that's about your reaction to Billy Jay's great-grandson."

"Of course," Ed said briskly. "I suppose it would be the one thing you wouldn't have experienced in a Japanese prisoner camp. They didn't just torture me or use me as a lab rat, George. Occasionally, they also took . . . samples of different fluids. I didn't know why at the time, but I was in too much pain to ask any questions."

"Of course," George interjected, needing to break the flow of that quiet voice long enough to take a deep breath. Not only were his own memories of torture very close to the surface at this moment, but he was also dealing with the thought of his friend, this great man, undergoing similar things.

Straker said nothing more for several minutes, and George finally realized that he had understood George's need to interrupt. And with the fine delicacy of manner he had always displayed, was waiting until it was okay for him to continue.

So George took one more breath, then said, "But later?"

"Yes. Later." Straker paused a moment before saying in a fairly calm manner, "By the time my men rescued me, I knew what they had done. You see, their race is sterile, which is one of the reasons why they come to Earth. Because they use our body parts to extend their own lives. But they'd recently found a way to impregnate their women with human DNA." He looked at George then, his face a mask of agony as he said, "_My _DNA, George.

"And I had to give the order to destroy their hideout. To destroy everyone in it. The women. Their unborn children. All of it." He didn't add _My unborn children_, although the unspoken words hung in the air between them. "And I couldn't do it. It broke me. After everything they'd done to me, after everything I'd survived, that was what broke me."

He was silent for a moment, then went on as if compelled. "My men did it anyway, of course. And I'd known they would. But I was done."

He stopped talking and simply sat, looking out over the pond. But not really seeing it, George knew. There were tears in his blue eyes that he brutally fought back as he sat there so still. And George realized that he was waiting.

Waiting for George to judge him for it.

"You did the right thing," George said gruffly, hoping he could say this right. "And so did your men. I suppose you've probably felt ever since that what happened – what _had_ to happen – makes you no better than the enemy. But you'd be wrong about that. They were the inhuman ones, Ed. Brutalizing their women in such a manner, with no thought of decency or basic human dignity. You couldn't have let them succeed. _That_ would have been condoning their cruelties."

Slowly the tears tracked down Straker's face, but he said nothing for quite some time. But eventually, he shook himself, blew his nose on his handkerchief, then turned to George. "Thank you," was all he said in his quiet voice. But George felt honored that he'd spoken to him about it at all.

As they stood and slowly made their way back toward the building, George said, "It's good to see you on your feet."

Straker smiled slightly. "It's good to _be_ back on my feet. Although I still tire easily."

"Have they given you your old job back?" George asked, unsure what that job might have been, but certain that it had been a kingly one.

"No," Straker said with a sigh. "And I didn't want it back, to tell you the truth. I may not have been completely beyond repair after all, but I was definitely beyond doing that job anymore."

"So, what did they do? I can't believe they'd just retire you."

Straker smiled. "Your loyalty is balm for my ego, George. No. Retirement has never been an option for me. Except for the short while I was here. Actually, they gave me a promotion. I'm a general now, overseeing everything that I used to run."

"How about that!" George said, a grin breaking out across his face. "Well, that's a fine thing." And he shook Ed's hand by way of congratulations. Then he frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Oh, dang!" he muttered.

"What?" Straker lifted a brow at his exclamation.

George gave him a martyred look. "This means that I'll never hear the end of it from Merle. He was certain you were a general."

And Straker found himself chuckling. "May I come visit you again, George?" he said.

"Sure."

"And maybe stay for dinner?"

"Anytime," George said. "Especially now that they're serving us better food. You won't have to endure mush when you come."

"I'm glad to hear it," Straker said blandly.

And George suddenly realized something. "You did that! Didn't you? You made them give us better food!"

Straker's smile was very sweet. "Well, I could hardly leave you here with that awful mush forever, George. You deserved so much better than that."

"You're a good man, Ed. Don't ever believe otherwise."

Straker met those earnest eyes and said, "They say a man is measured by the friends he possesses. If that's the case, then I couldn't fail to be a good man, could I, George?"

George flushed. Then he thought of something. "Hey! There was a guy who came looking for you here, said he was your best friend. Did he ever find you?"

Straker grimaced. "Alec!" he said with a sigh. "The damned fool. I wondered, you see, how the aliens were able to find me here. No one knew where I was, after all, except my doctor. But good old Alec had to dig under every rock until he found out where I was."

George's eyes got big. "And led them to you?"

Straker shook his head. "They'd been watching him, knowing that he wouldn't stay away from my side for long. So when he suddenly hopped a plane and came here, they knew something was up and followed him."

"Is he okay then?" George asked, wondering if the enemy had harmed him.

"He's fine," Ed assured him. "As ornery as ever. In fact, I made them promote him along with me. Someone's got to keep him out of trouble, after all." His grin flashed. "Good-bye, George. Take care of everyone here for me. Maybe I'll come back for a visit sometime. Perhaps in the spring?"

And with another of his sweet smiles, he walked over to the bulletproof limousine waiting for him in the parking lot. George went back into the building with a small smile on his own face. He was so glad that Ed considered him a friend. And that he valued that friendship enough to want to continue it. A friendship that had begun over a cup of jello.

Although George did wonder how he was going to explain to his fiancee that they might have a very distinguished guest at their wedding.


End file.
